What a difference two months makes. On the 1st June, I was writing poetry about a ghost. Now on the 1st August, I'm writing it about a man who's presence is active.
At the beginning of June I was wrapping blue flowers around a broken clock. Hoping that the ghost would remember. I no longer hope for this.
On this first day of August, I love someone new. It perhaps apt that Goldfrapp's Utopia plays my wait for him to arrive at my house. Just over a week ago, he asked me what I wanted to do, I said "just be here". There wasn't anything that could have improved it. We were enough.